The Blood Countess
by Itsygo
Summary: The Order usually tries to off good people. So why send assassins after a mass murderer? Set between The Dark and The Key. UPDATED AT LAST!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Plot mine, characters not.**

* * *

**Rochelle**

I come to Arkarian's chambers early enough to be the one to break up the lovey-dovey session of kissing, caressing, and exchanging warm, affectionate looks. A cynical side of me is disgusted with how cutesy and romantic they are, but the truth is, I am jealous of their relationship. Arkarian is the nicest, most supportive and caring person I've ever met, and I would love so much to have someone treat me like he treats Isabel – simultaneously like a queen and an equal.

The room is uncomfortably silent; they are both blocking their thoughts. It unnerves me, because there is no better way to tell someone you don't trust them than consciously concealing your mind from them. I know Isabel is doing it because she hates when Arkarian glimpses the random hormone-induced appraisals of his body, but it really bothers me that Arkarian does it, even though I rationally know that his thoughts are always hidden unless he wants it otherwise. It gives him an insidious vibe, as though he has something to hide, and it is completely in contrast with his trusting, friendly demeanor. I know I am being unfair – after all, I don't even _want_ to hear their thoughts – but I am pretty paranoid, and this is just one of the things that enforce my conviction that no one in the Guard trusts me.

Eventually, they stop pecking each other on the smiley rosy faces, and Arkarian turns to me, still holding on to Isabel.

"Well, Shaun has apparently decided to be fashionably late."

I smile politely, and Isabel giggles as though his remark were actually funny. It is interesting, though, that Shaun is the only one needed here apart from us. Maybe I'm going on a mission with him. I wonder if Isabel is going too, or if she is here only to be with Arkarian. What with Matt playing father to her, she does not get to spend much time with him.

"Ah. There he is," Arkarian smiles, getting up to greet the man who just appeared in front of him.

"Arkarian," Shaun grasps his arm and slaps him on the shoulder. I wonder if men salute each other like this universally, or just in movies, books, and secret societies.

"Hi, Isabel. Hi, Rochelle," Shaun waves to us. I give him a small smile, wondering what he can possibly think of me, seeing as how I used to work for the man who killed his daughter. Arkarian's head whips in my direction, his strange purple eyes regarding me seriously. I know he has heard my thoughts, but I don't know why they would elicit such a reaction.

"Hey," Isabel tells Shaun, grinning. Arkarian relaxes, his face softening, and gives the other man his chair. "Tonight, we have a mission. It's a confusing mission..." he pauses, breathing in and out through his teeth. "The Order is after Elizabeth Bathory –"

"To kill her?" Shaun's eyebrows fly up as he laughs out loud. I understand his amusement – Elizabeth Bathory is a lunatic purported to have murdered over six hundred virgins because she saw their blood as very rejuvenating to her skin. It seems like a conflict of interest that the Order should want to eliminate her.

"Well, yes, and that is the source for our confusion. The best guess we have is that one of Elizabeth's victims would prove significant to the Order, but how they came to that conclusion is a mistery."

"A vision?" suggests Isabel. Arkarian nods. "I'd say so, but it still seems incredibly random. Why not choose something more recent? And also, why would one have a vision of something that may have happened in the past, but did not? It would seem rather pointless. I don't think anyone in the Guard ever had such a vision, at least not one that was recorded and known by the Tribunal."

"So," Isabel says loudly, getting Arkarian's attention. "Am I going?"

"Yes," he grins at her. She shouts out with happiness and jumps from her stool to give him a kiss.

"Am _I_ going?" I ask tentatively. I have not exactly been on many missions with the Guard, but me being here tonight is surely a good sign. Right?

Arkarian smiles at me. His smile often makes me wonder how a mortal six-hundred-year-old has such perfect, snow-white teeth. "You are coordinating the mission."

"I am?" This is a surprise. I don't have much experience monitoring missions. I have always been more of an in-the-field sort of person.

"Yes. Marcus is busy tonight, unfortunately, and I can't do it. But you've done it before, so it shouldn't be a problem, and Shaun will stay to assist you."

"Wait," Isabel says, "does that mean you're going with me?"

"I am," he nods. Isabel looks ecstatic, but thankfully lets him finish. He goes over the basics with me, explaining how his equipment works. It is different from the system I used before, but I'll manage. "All good?" he asks me, and I nod, ignoring the lump of nervousness in my throat.

"Now, transport Isabel," he tells me, pulling back from the panels to give me space. I inhale deeply, reminding myself that this is not a big deal, I've done it before, and select the room of the Citadel she is to be teleported to. As the holographic picture shifts to a closer view of the chamber, I turn to a keypad and select Isabel's glowing name on the screen. Holding my breath, I press the key supposed to send Isabel to the Citadel and hope for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Isabel**

Rochelle transports me successfully, and I land in a cobbled room whose walls are covered with paintings. Arkarian shows up seconds later, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"That's interesting," he mutters, noticing the large number of pictures crowding the walls. "It's the same woman."

"Is it? Is that Elizabeth Bathory?"

"No..." Arkarian shakes his head, looking around in perplexity. "I don't know who this woman is."

"Maybe it's who we need to look for. Maybe we'll get it once we get there."

"Isabel, can you memorize this image? Through your gift?"

"Like, exactly the way it is?"

"Yes."

I frown. "I can try, but I've never tried anything like that before."

I stare at the portraits, realizing they are mostly copies. There are only about three different pictures, and they all show the same person, a brown-haired woman with pale skin and dark eyes. Her face is serious, not the best looking, but not hideous either. There is nothing exceptional about her features.

"Look," Arkarian's voice echoes from a distance. He is in the far corner of the chamber, intently staring at something small and white. I join him, propping myself up on my tiptoes. It is an ink drawing of a woman, clothed in a robe. She has horns, and a tail, and there is an upside-down cross hanging from her neck. I am confused as whether the lines on her chin are supposed to be a beard or the artist's innovative take on portraying shadow, but either way the subject looks thoroughly satanic.

"That's very lovely."

Carefully, Arkarian takes the piece of paper off the wall, examining the back side. There is nothing.

"I'll go give this to Rochelle and Shaun," he says with a sigh, disappearing. I hug myself, unnerved by the hundreds of painted eyes that seem to watch me.

* * *

Arkarian returns moments later, taking my hand. His fingers are warm, and the feel of them reminds me of something that has been bothering me lately. 

"Arkarian?"

"Yes?"

"Our bodies are in bed, right?"

"Well, mine is in an armchair, actually, but for all intents and purposes, yes." Seeing my mouth opening, he inclines his head patiently. "I know."

I have no doubt that he does.

"So how the hell are we here?"

"We aren't, not in the flesh. The Citadel recognizes your soul and gives you a palpable form that you perceive as your own. Kind of like, uh, HTML? Your soul has a code, and in certain places that code manifests itself figuratively rather than as it is in actuality."

"HTML, Arkarian? When were you born, again?"

"I don't live in a cave, Isabel."

"You kind of do, but go on."

"I am required to know the ways of the mortal time I live in. I don't inhabit this world for obvious reasons," he leans in, slapping me with a handful of his hair. I kiss his grinning mouth, then pull away, letting him continue. "But I do know what is going on. I'd make a poor Guard if I didn't."

"You are the best Guard ever," I tell him as we reach the changing room. He laughs, shaking his head. Though, suddenly, the head is not his anymore. It is brown-haired and sunburnt, with features thicker and much less refined than Arkarian's.

"Nice beard," I cringe. He feels for his cheeks with broad, stubby-nailed fingers. The look is not all that pleasing. "I hope I get to be your sister."

"I hope you can walk with those," he tells me spitefully. I look down, noting with horror that my new body's chest managed to house as much mass as my normal self does in total.

"What's your new name, Miss Watermelon?"

I shake my head in dismay, trying to find a way of locating my legs. Arkarian, seemingly amused, takes me by the shoulders and pushes me in front of a mirror. What I see is not horrendous, far from it, but the change is drastic and I feel uncomfortable with so much flesh.

At least this body is taller than my own, but the benefits end there. The breasts will get in the way in combat, and the extra meat everywhere will rob me off my agility. I poke my arm with a finger, savoring the strange, soft feeling.

"That's a pretty small waist," Arkarian observes. His body has widened as well, and he is taller as well as beefier. We are both clothed modestly, in the coarse but clean attire of Slavic peasants.

"Well, let's get our identities, Ms Mammary."

I follow him to the middle of the room, hoping this mission will be a short one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rochelle**

Because looking anywhere else in Shaun's presence is extremely awkward, I keep my eyes fixed on Arkarian and Isabel. They've come to the Čachtice Castle, and while Arkarian negotiates room and work, Isabel thoughtfully examines her new, bountiful form.

Shaun breaks the silence and my focus. "Do you think they're really after Bathory?"

"I don't even know how they would know who the Order is after."

"Lorian knows many things. If he says it's Bathory, it's Bathory."

While I appreciate his faith in his superior, the dogmatic 'it is because it is' does not often work for me. I do not doubt that Lorian truly has this knowledge, whether through a gift of his, or a spy, but it is discouraging that a seasoned Guard like Shaun is unaware of the Guard's medium for information. I would expect secrecy and mistrust from Lathenia, whose megalomania and tactics of coercion leave no room for fantasies of fairness, but how can Lorian, the spokesperson for the good of the worlds, keep everyone in the dark while they are out risking their necks for him? Half the time, not even Arkarian, the most powerful and experienced of us, is privy to what is really going on.

Shaun massages his temples, looking from the piece of paper Arkarian has given him to a screen listing the coordinates and the time of the mission. The year is 1585, the year that young Erzsébet putatively began her sanguine escapades.

"I remember only this," Shaun tells me thoughtfully. "One time, when Elizabeth Bathory came up in conversation, Marduke had told me that he remembered a different account from the one we are taught. She was not a bad woman. She helped the Slavic peasants, and she often protected women. She was well educated, and beneficent, and there was no mention of her ever drawing a single drop of blood."

I catch on. "Meaning the Order had sent someone later on, and that had altered history?"

"Yes. I do not know of anyone directly involved, dead, immortal, or otherwise. Marduke seemed to think it was in the jurisdiction of another house. But we do think that the change happened in the early eighteenth century."

He falls silent, and I cannot help but read his thoughts. For one, he is projecting them, as though he wants the question answered without the discomfort of voicing it. In short, he wants to know whether I've heard of anything concerning Elizabeth Bathory during my membership in the Order. Out of spite, I say absolutely nothing.

In the embarrassed silence, he looks at Arkarian's sphere. While minutes had passed in our world, the happy couple lived through several uneventful days. Both have found work – Isabel as a cleaning maid, and Arkarian as a guard. There is a shortage of men because of the war, the constant attempts of the Ottomans to spread their empire further north. But there is nothing happening that would be of interest to us, and nothing to suggest that the beautiful young countess is either in mortal danger, or a bloodthirsty maniac about to put others in mortal danger. What this means, we realize, is that this is the original Elizabeth, one not yet corrupted by the Order. And if we save her, we will have condemned half a thousand innocent young women to death.


End file.
